A/N: Hi everyone, I know I'm really late but aside from real-life problems, I've struggled to finish this chapter. It's easy to say it was the most difficult of this entire fic, you may understand why when you read it (there's also a tissue warning). I finished it just yesterday and I'm posting it now so please forgive me if you find more mistakes than usual.

That said, I hope you enjoy it and don't forget to read the additional notes at the end of the chapter.

Chapter Seventy-Six: The end of an era

The air was cool on that early autumn day when the wind had already taken away the heat, the leaves were slowly beginning to fall, turning yellow, and in the village, the predominant noises were no longer those of enthusiastic children but of farmers at work since sunrise. At the river, in particular, mothers were intent on doing laundry, and no children were allowed to dive into the icy water.

The two peers watched everything from the opposite bank, occasionally grabbing by the scruff of the neck that disobedient little boy who had managed to escape from his mother's watchful eye or some garment carried away by the current. They just stood by each other, not talking but content with the company and the milder, more breathable air than that of summer – which, that year, had been particularly sultry.

The silence, however, lasted until figures appeared on the horizon, young and just blossoming, without fiancés or children – and for that reason, beyond the usual duties, still free. They laughed carefree as the wind loosened their hair and blushed their cheeks, and the laughter reverberated around them, almost overtaking even the mother's cries and the children's screams. The first of the two slid his watchful gaze over the newcomers, lingering on the ankles that had just been uncovered so they could dip their feet into the water, on the curves accentuated by the clothes they were wearing, on their necks, and finally, on their full, red lips. He sighed languidly, but before he could utter a single word, his friend slapped the back of his neck, interrupting him.

"Pervert," he hissed, irritated. "Do you think it's appropriate at your age?"

"Ouch! I wasn't doing anything wrong!" he justified himself as he massaged the bruised skin. "You should have more respect for those older than you, you know? And take into account their frailties."

"I don't deny that you are rather frail and deteriorated, Hisui, but how many times do I have to tell you that a few months apart aren't enough for you to think you're bigger than me?"

Hisui shrugged. "Now that we look like grandfather and grandson, I can afford it. And most of all, I would expect a minimum of consideration. My back's been giving me a lot of trouble lately; you should go easy with those hands."

"And you should go easy with those eyes if you don't want someone pulling them out of your sockets. The fact you look like their grandfather is just another reason you should stop looking at them like you're thinking about what they're hiding under their skirts," Toga reprimanded him, starting to get angry.

"Again? I swear, I wasn't doing anything wrong." He brought a hand to his chest and looked at him with the most innocent eyes possible. "I was just choosing the one best suited for you so I could send you in their direction later and relive the joys of first love through you. You know, you should trust me; when it comes to women, I'm certainly more experienced than you," he proffered sagely and nodded his head.

His friend inhaled deeply, clenching his hands into fists and trying to resist the urge to slap him again. "For the umpteenth time, I'm not interested in your love advice, nor do I want to look for a woman," he spat out through clenched teeth.

"Are you really sure about that?" asked Hisui in a petulant voice with a protruding lower lip. "I can't believe you're fifty and have no sexual instincts. At least you could do this old man a favour!"

Toga rolled his eyes, believing for a moment that he was dealing with Hisui's grandkid rather than Hisui himself. "Here we go again," he said to himself, snorting. "You'll never change," he then predicted.

In response, the other threw an arm around his shoulders and burst out laughing. "Of course not, of course not. You could never make an old man like me change." He winked and, influenced, even Toga could not help but smile.

To an outside eye – one unfamiliar with the dynamics of their village – they would indeed have looked like grandfather and grandson spending some time together. Perhaps, the former would have taught the latter how to fish or told him some amusing anecdote that had been passed down from generation to generation and of whose veracity one could not even be sure. However, as had already been pointed out by the younger one, they were actually only a couple of months apart, and although the older one had a face full of wrinkles, his physique was no longer fit and his movements were slower, they had been friends all their lives. Now that Hisui's hair had turned white, however, he could at least look like Toga to a certain degree.

On his face, unlike Toga's, one could read the signs of the years gone by, the happy moments and the sadder ones, the tears and the laughter, the joys of a life full of love and children. For a man of his age, on closer inspection, he was still quite energetic; he hoped he had some more time with his wife and to see some more grandchildren born, perhaps even some great-grandchildren. In the meantime, he knew in his heart that he was content and had no regrets.

Silence returned to them and was soon interrupted again by Hisui, who now had a satisfied but also nostalgic smile on his lips. "I'm glad Dad saw Aiko's baby boy being born; you should have seen him: he was so happy because he's my first grandson."

Toga read the sadness in his friend's voice without fail and could swear he heard him sniffle, but tried to tone down any negative feelings. "Let's just hope he doesn't take an example from his grandfather and great-grandfather, though." He elbowed him lightly in the ribs and laughed. "But maybe he'll be lucky with the parents he got; they'll be good educators."

"You mean I wasn't?" asked the other, pretending to be offended.

The shi-hanyou laughed even louder. "Of course not. Between you and Miroku, really-" He suddenly froze, realising he had brought the conversation back to square one; Hisui noticed and waved his hand to calm him down.

"You don't have to stop talking about him for fear of the effect it might have on me; on the contrary, I'm glad to hear about him positively, especially these days," he reassured him. "And when he's gone, we won't stop talking about him anyway."

Toga stared at him sympathetically but could not quite empathise with his grief, even though his uncle's illness – which had already gone on too long – was a sore argument for him, too. He certainly couldn't make any comparisons or imagine what it was like to see his own parent withering away day after day, confined to bed and growing weaker and weaker, watching his slow and painful decline.

A veil of sadness and profound incapacity had descended on their families for several months already, making it impossible to enjoy moments like the ones the two had just shared, colouring everything grey and leaving them prey to grief – in all its forms. Yet, of all of them, the one who appeared most serene was Miroku himself; despite being confined to bed, he always had a smile on his lips and preferred to spend what was left reminiscing about joys near and far. When he indulged in the past, he felt young again, the illness disappeared as did the marks on his body, and his ears filled with the children's laughter. And his first son, somewhat following his father's example, refused to drown himself in grief before he had even suffered the loss – after all, his sisters and mother were already suffering enough for everyone.

In the distance, as Hisui was begging his friend not to hold back, another person was watching the exchange between them; his ears twitched on his head as the wind carried their voices turned whispers due to the distance. He listened without concentration because he hadn't, in fact, wanted to eavesdrop, and at the same time, he lost himself to his own musings, which were quite sad too.

Miroku had had the healthy offspring for which he had fought and hoped, Inuyasha thought as he listened to Hisui talk about the newborn; he had achieved even more than what – in moments of despair – he had never dared imagine. His life had been full of joys, fulfilling, and he had always been the least inclined to melodrama or to indulge in negative feelings. Therefore, it did not surprise him that even on his deathbed he refused to turn down the corners of his mouth. Even when they should have been the ones to comfort him, stand by his side and remind him that his family would always be protected, Miroku calmed them down and brought a smile to their faces.

He shook his head and turned away, his back to Toga and Hisui, just as a stronger breeze tousled his hair and robe, making his ears ring and reminding him – in part – of the noise of the old vortex that had haunted his friend. Finally, he sighed and descended the hill, walking slowly towards his destination, making it so it would empty apart from its fixed resident before moving the bamboo curtain and revealing his presence.

The monk was there waiting for him with his eyes closed and the usual mischievous smile on his lips; his fragile hand, white and wrinkled, moved for a second to invite him in and his heavy breathing was the only sound the half-demon heard until he was sitting on the ground beside him.

"You've kicked the women out again," he reprimanded him, referring to Sango and Kagome, who had exited to leave the two of them alone. "You never change; one would think that, at least now, you would let me enjoy the female graces a little more."

Inuyasha smiled, despite himself. "Enjoy your wife's and leave mine alone. You could attempt to grope her even now with those little bones you have instead of fingers – your resolve has always been ironclad, you perverted bonze." He had no qualms about commenting on his friend's obvious fragility because he knew him and knew that by proceeding tentatively, cautiously, he would offend him – and that was the last thing he wanted.

Miroku burst out laughing before being shaken by a fit of coughing that made his body vibrate, and Inuyasha leaned towards him to make him drink and give him some relief for his now permanently parched throat. When he recovered, he had a lost look on his face as if he were thinking about something particularly pleasant, but the smile that had taken place on his lips again told his companion that it was rather something dirty. "Ah, Kagome-sama. It has been so long since I have been able to lay my fingers on her beautiful, soft curves; I can almost feel the contact under my fingertips." He sighed while, of its own volition, his hand began to move, more vigorously than before, as if groping the air.

"Miroku," Inuyasha hissed through clenched teeth, interrupting him.

"Oh, come on, my friend. It's not like I've touched her since you've been married, nor would I now, though..." A gleam shone in his eyes which, for a moment, regained that deep blue that some of his children had inherited and which, by now, had faded. "That bottom of hers is even more inviting now that she's filled out due to the pregnancy. It's been so long since Toga was born that I had forgotten."

Inuyasha had to restrain himself, clenching his fists on his knees and jabbing his claws into his palms to avoid hitting him and killing him before his time. It should have amazed him Miroku was still in the mood for joking and being a pervert, but in fact, he hadn't stopped behaving like that for a second. Perhaps, only at the first stage of his illness, when Kagome had given him some medicine to reduce the pain, but which he had then refused because it prevented him from staying lucid most of the time. That did not mean, however, that it pleased him that his friend was fantasising about his wife's body.

"Miroku!" he repeated, raising his voice slightly and letting him know he had had enough.

The monk sighed; he shook his head as much as he could, and a silver lock fell across his face. "You're always so boring." Inuyasha rolled his eyes in response. "And you'd better change a little because when the village kids will start commenting on your daughter's graces, you won't be able to pluck their eyes out the way you're wishing you could with mine," he proclaimed more seriously than ever.

In response, Inuyasha's left eyelid twitched, as did his now unfolded hand. "Really, and tell me... were you this calm and wise even when the graces in question were those of your daughters?"

"Of course!" assented Miroku. "After all, aren't they all married now? As a man, I always knew what to expect from them and what reactions their beauty – which they inherited from my beautiful Sango – would elicit from their peers of the opposite sex." The speech, divided here and there by pauses he was forced to take, was steeped in hypocrisy, and Inuyasha narrowed his gaze at him, remembering well when the first little boy had dared to even look at the twins. And now he even had the nerve to lecture him, who didn't even have a daughter!"

Ignoring his best friend's obvious irritation, Miroku continued, "You must take an example from me, Inuyasha, because when the little one is born, you won't be able to hide her forever. Ah, I look forward to that day," he said, putting aside for a moment the fact that he would most likely be gone before Kagome gave birth. "I'll finally get to tease you properly." He laughed and coughed at the same time. "Then again, Kagome is also a rare beauty; no doubt any daughter of yours will be the envy of all."

Melancholy took hold of the half-demon at these last words, in understanding that this time Miroku wouldn't be next to him, that no matter how much he had always repeated he was annoyed by his ways he would miss him greatly. And he wasn't surprised to comprehend how much he really wished Miroku could be there at his daughter's birth to tease him. And they couldn't even know if the child he and Kagome were expecting was another boy or their first girl.

As if he could read his mind, Miroku suddenly looked at him seriously and proclaimed: "It will be a girl, you know that, right?"

"How can you be so sure?"

"Call it instinct, my spirit of observation, and if you will, even the circumstances preceding her birth." He wanted to shrug his shoulders in a gesture of indifference as if to say he didn't want to focus so much on the how but on that truth, yet he was unable to. He was tired, his eyelids were heavy, and he wanted to sleep – just for a while – then they would talk again. He still had so much to say to Inuyasha; he wanted to tease him and watch him react like he had so many times before in their youth; Miroku knew that he was one of the few still capable of triggering such a reaction in him. "It will be a girl," he reiterated in a whisper before falling completely asleep, exhausted, not even saying anything else.

Inuyasha peered at him for what seemed like an eternity as he tried to compose himself before leaving Miroku's bedside, well aware that if he left immediately, his face would show his agony clearly.

Years later, when his daughter would fall in love for the first time, he would remember the pain in the same way and feel even more the absence of the friend he could never really replace.

Miroku passed away shortly afterwards. The day before, on a new moon, he had kept Inuyasha company and forced him to forgive him. The half-demon-turned-human had stood bemusedly watching him, wondering what he had to forgive him for; he had always been annoying, it was true – and so was the fact that he loved to annoy him – but he was fine with it after all. The monk had smiled but then revealed to him that he would understand when his daughter grew up and he would not be there for him, as Inuyasha had done for him; he would hate him – even just for a moment – but he had to promise to forgive him.

Made more sensitive perhaps by the pain he had been carrying for weeks or perhaps by the absence of the moon in the dark sky, Inuyasha had exhaled a ragged breath, shaking his head at the absurdity of those words. "There is nothing I have to forgive you for; there will never be anything to forgive you for."

"Promise me."

And he nodded, despite himself, for he knew the end was near, and he did not want to displease him.

That same night, before dawn, he had cried like a baby in his wife's arms, without shame or feeling weak. Kagome cried with him, and they both knew, deep inside, that the following day there would be no room for tears: they would have to be stronger and comfort Sango.

Years later, when his daughter would fall in love for the first time, he would feel resentment – even just for a moment – but forgiveness would come soon after, along with the knowledge that Miroku had been right both times.

A daughter had been born and he had needed forgiveness.

In the days that followed, no one was surprised to notice that out of everyone, the person who was grieving Miroku's death the most was Sango.

The monk had been her lifelong companion and, although with Inuyasha and Kagome they had shared tears, smiles and sweat, created the family they all missed, it was him whom she had loved and in whose embrace she had taken refuge every night for every day until now. The cold futon, the absence of his laughter, no longer hearing the sound of his shakujo announcing his homecoming or even feeling his often-inappropriate caresses, were too difficult to contemplate – not when her entire existence had been shaped by those moments, by the compromises and joys that resulted from them. Without Miroku, Sango no longer knew how to keep living.

It seemed as if love finally had come to present the bill as if the intensity of the feelings experienced had a price to pay: the stronger the love had been, the greater the price would be. And no one could doubt how much the monk and the slayer had loved each other.

Kagome remembered observing similar tragedies even in the modern era; she recalled the pain she had heard in her mother's voice whenever she spoke of her father. In hindsight, Inuyasha could have said the same of the misery he had always read in Izayoi's eyes. The truth was that some were simply unable of living without their soulmate, and the moment the latter passed away, they began to fade quickly as if they couldn't bear to be separated any longer.

Therefore, without even having had a chance to digest the loss of Miroku, the family had to accept that soon Sango would no longer be among them as well. But no one could blame her for that, and neither could Kagome, especially not after the heartbreaking confession her friend made to her a few weeks after his death.

She had started handing more and more tasks over to her two assistants in the last while; between being pregnant and having to look after Miroku, Kagome had found she had less and less time and didn't want to steal any from her family. When the monk had finally closed his eyes for the last time, no one had expected to see her return to her old routine any time soon – not least because she was getting closer and closer to the end of her pregnancy. So it was that the villagers also learnt not to constantly call for her help as had been their custom in the past unless there were serious situations. It also had to be said that those she had taught since she had become the head priestess had always proved to be more than prepared and adequate. That's why the circumstances never made her feel guilty, and she planned her days without the agitation that usually came from not being able to do everything.

That particular morning, Kagome had woken up early and, accompanied by her eldest son, had gone in search of some herbs to replenish her stock. She had also promised Sango that she would bring her a brew that usually relieved her arthritis pain when she visited her at the usual time. Arriving at her place, she was not surprised to find her in bed, but what took her by surprise, rather, was the absence of her agony in her eyes and the presence of a serene – and in some ways resigned – smile. On seeing it, her first reaction was joy. However, soon afterwards, she thought that perhaps it was hiding something else, and she didn't know whether it was a good or a bad thing.

Sango welcomed her more enthusiastically than usual and drank even the harshest medicine without complaint. Indeed, as she grew older, she too had become more irritable and had lost some of her patience; she no longer accepted certain solutions by gritting her teeth and putting up with it. That day, however, she seemed to be back to her old self and the aura around her figure made Kagome think that perhaps she was lost in some past memory.

She did not have to wait long before she got the answer to her doubt because, soon, the slayer began to speak, confiding in her a thought she had never shared with anyone – not even Miroku.

"You know, Kagome, I always thought I was the luckier of the two," she said in a faint voice, surprising her. "And not because yours isn't a good life, on the contrary. But... I always wondered how you could be so serene while the world around you aged and you remained the same." She shook her head before she could be interrupted. "Yes, I know. Your love for Inuyasha is so strong that it hasn't made you doubt your choice even for a second. Yet, that is precisely why I have always been convinced of this idea of mine. I could love my husband without having to give up anything else, living between other humans and not fearing to see those closest to me left behind."

Kagome took her hand between her own and stroked it, smiling. "I don't deny that it was difficult, but after all, it's the price Inuyasha and I chose to pay to live in this community. Then again, even just fifty years with you – with my family on this side of the well – was a lot compared to nothing. I came to terms with our differences and this path I chose when I was still young, knowing I would have at least one life to share with you." She took a deep breath and pushed back the tears as she gently ran her thumb over her friend's knuckles. Finally, she met her equally misty gaze and resumed, "But one life with Inuyasha would not have been enough; I could never grow old leaving him behind, dye knowing he would be alone. Everything else doesn't matter; to be with him, I was always willing to do anything."

Sango nodded. "Perhaps, if I had not fallen in love with a human, I could have understood your speech better – even if I witnessed the love that binds you and Inuyasha. But I cannot imagine falling in love with anyone other than Miroku even if I were to be reborn a second time, and I think you also understand what I wanted to say." In reply, she received a nod. "I have always been convinced of that, at least until now." She averted her gaze and turned it outside before continuing. "I have envied you, Kagome, as never before, since Miroku left me. You are still so full of life, ready to welcome another child and in love more than ever with the man you have beside you. I, on the other hand, have lost mine, and until this morning, I couldn't get over it."

"What has changed?" the young woman asked her gently, aware that her friend was about to reveal to her the meaning of that smile she had exhibited earlier and was now making its way back to her lips.

"I remember having a dream last night, although I forgot the details as soon as I opened my eyes. Still, I'm sure I received a message; perhaps... it was Miroku's way of telling me that I should stop drowning in my grief and embrace the last moments I have left with my family, with you." When she looked back at her, tears were streaking her cheeks, but she was as happy as she could remember being in a long time. "I know we'll see each other again soon and I don't need to be sad anymore; he's there waiting for me, you know?" Finally, she freed herself from Kagome's grip and raised her wrinkled hand to wipe her wet face. "Aren't you happy for me?"

"Y-yes, y-yes," Kagome gasped.

"But that doesn't mean you're ready to say goodbye. It's hard, isn't it?" Again, Kagome nodded. "You'll be fine, you'll be fine. And soon, you'll have someone else in my place to keep you company, to remember me by." She placed her hand on her swollen belly and smiled more openly. "A daughter, just as Miroku predicted."

"She will never know her aunt Sango," she cried again.

"She will, through your memories. Besides, even if she had the chance, I would be Grandma Sango to her; I am too old now to be an aunt."

"Nonsense!" retorted Kagome, who did not want to accept reality, but one look from Sango made her realise that it would be pointless to deny the evidence any longer.

"Don't cry too much for me." As her husband had done with Inuyasha, she wrung a promise from her. "I am happy now, knowing that Miroku is on the other side waiting for me, and I know that you will have a long life. Mine was, too, against all odds, and I can only thank you, my friend. You saved me – in more ways than one – and gave me back hope and the will to live when I had already given up and was ready to abandon life. But most of all, you gave me back a family, and for that, no words will ever be enough." At that point, Kagome threw herself at her completely, hugging her and crying into her chest; Sango comforted her and held her close as a mother would a daughter, knowing they both needed it.

The slayer had no illusions and knew that leaving this world would be extremely difficult for both her and her remaining loved ones. But she had made her choice while they would continue their journey, reach other goals and continue to live for her.

Her journey had reached its final stage, and looking back, she saw only the joys; all pain and loss had long since faded.

. . .

One year later

. . .

The half-demon was resting with his eyes closed in the shade of a tree on that late summer afternoon when the heat still left no respite. He had chosen that position because of the nearby presence of a stream that made the area cooler than the others, not to mention the solitude that surrounded him and for which he could only be grateful. His chest, wrapped only in the white kosode, rose and fell rhythmically, and with it, the little body that slept on it, serene, soothed by the movement. Inuyasha held his daughter's back with one hand while his free arm acted as a pillow while basking in the gentle breeze that reached him and the quiet sound of the waves. In the distance, in the camps, the soldiers and commanders of his brother's army were training, but they were too far away for them to disturb him, which was another reason why that place was perfect.

Such days now were not uncommon, but it had not always been so since they had moved west almost a year ago, and thinking back, he also remembered fearing, for a moment, that such tranquillity would continue to slip out of his hands.

He had never believed that dealing with the deaths of Sango and Miroku would be easy, and yet, their absence had had almost disastrous consequences, and he did not like to remember how close he had come to losing Moroha – or Kagome – as well.

He remembered the evening when one of the other miko had taken him aside and warned him about his mate's state of health: that suffering could do neither her nor the child any good, and if she did not recover soon, the consequences could be lethal for both of them. Inuyasha had wasted no time and under the advice of his brother – and his sons – had concluded that the time had come for them to leave the village.

He had promised Kagome that first night together that he would take care of her and their family, and he did not intend to break it now, even if the choice to be made wasn't easy.

If staying in the place that had been their home for fifty years would be a source of pain because of the many memories it sent back to them, then he would leave it, and with it, the happy days they had spent there. After all, at that time, it was also impossible to relive them. And they had always known that sooner or later, that moment would come.

Moroha had been born sometime later and where he had hoped that her birth could somehow help Kagome to recover, he had had to change his mind immediately when he had noticed that not only was his mate ignoring their daughter but that she was shutting herself away more and more.

He could not remember how many nights he had spent crying together with the little girl, feeling on the brink of madness, unable to understand how he had failed her and what he could do to fix it. And not being able to help Kagome was killing him even more, day after day. The only reason he hadn't drowned in his grief was the knowledge that Moroha needed at least one of her parents.

A year later, he knew how fundamental people around him, the place where they were, and his brother's foresight had also been. Sesshomaru had been incredibly helpful to him, and the experience had strengthened their bond even more; it had brought them closer, and Inuyasha had also understood how Sesshomaru must have felt when their positions were reversed and it was Rin who had refused to come alive again.

Amid that delirium, he had almost lost hope and it had been hard for him to believe they would overcome this battle. Today, however, he shook his head and smiled at his naivety: he should have known they would make it because he was no longer alone. He had lost Sango and Miroku, sure, but they still had a big family behind them, ready to support them in their time of need.

"What are you thinking of to smile in that way?" A melodious, cheerful voice distracted him from those thoughts, and Inuyasha opened his eyes to rest them on the figure coming toward him. Gone were the dark circles and pale complexion; she had regained her weight and resumed her old healthy rhythms, and no one looking at her could have imagined what condition she was in months before.

"Does there have to be a particular reason? Isn't it already enough to have a daughter at my side resting in peace and a mate as beautiful as mine?" He retorted, leaning towards her and stealing her a kiss as soon as she sat beside him.

Kagome nodded and happily reciprocated before resting her head on his shoulder and sighing contentedly. "Too bad said daughter won't sleep peacefully for much longer." She brushed her swollen, aching breasts as an explanation, and Inuyasha realised that Moroha would soon be waking up, screaming and demanding food.

"Well, it has lasted too much. Someone would have come calling for me anyway for who knows what reason; there always seems to be something to do around here." He huffed and then stood up, giving his wife a hand to do the same. "Shall we go?" Kagome grabbed the arm he held out to her and together they walked on.

"Not that it was all that different back in the village," she replied, her voice devoid of any negative undertones indicating that, by now, the thought of their old home no longer caused her pain.

Her mate agreed. "Maybe it's for the best anyway," he commented sagely. "Not that you and I have ever been able to sit still for long."

Even in the West, life had taken on a frenetic pace, and they, after all, liked it that way. Their former enemies had disappeared and even receiving false smiles or sneers had no impact on them. Even there, they had their established roles, and Kagome hadn't stopped being a priestess just because she lived among demons now. Muteki and Toga had begun to spend more and more time with their peers and, above all, were freer to give vent to the demonic side they had somehow had to suppress in the village. They did not regret the choice to leave, nor did Kagome hold a grudge against Inuyasha for taking it.

It had been the right one at the right time.

There was nothing left for them there where they had once met and loved each other, and had she not been pregnant one year ago and had Inuyasha not been forced to make an emergency decision Kagome was convinced they would have realised in some other way that it was time to leave. In return, they would always retain their love for their lifelong friends and the village that, against all odds, had been so crucial to their existences.

After all, neither the half-demon angry at the world nor the girl who had fallen into the well would ever have imagined what was in store for them when they arrived there. And perhaps, fate had indeed had a hand in it when it had led them to that place.

"Hey, isn't it the anniversary of Miroku and Sango's death soon?" asked Kagome once they returned to the castle.

"I guess it is," Inuyasha replied, scratching his chin and handing Moroha to her. "Shall we all plan a trip together to visit their graves?"

She smiled – that smile the half-demon would never tire of, even in five hundred years – and nodded.

A/N:

Writing about Miroku and Sango's death was not easy, as you can imagine and this is the main reason I struggled, but I wanted both of them to have one last special moment with their best friends and stress the role they have played in our main characters' lives. Furthermore, they didn't have the space I wanted them to have when I plotted this fic and they deserved one last chapter just for them - even if it was a teary one.

I hope you liked it but whatever doubts you have please tell me!

The epilogue is already written and will be published in a week (I still can't believe it's almost finished).

Meanwhile, if you're interested, I'll be publishing the prologue of my new fic this weekend here and on Ao3.

Until next time!